The embarrassed flush on Jiang Yumiao's face only began to fade after Ning Chunchi helped him put on his safety goggles and earmuffs.
He told himself not to dwell on it. He wouldn't be able to keep it a secret forever anyway. Even if it hadn't happened today, he might have blurted it out some other time.
Ning Chunchi chose a small-caliber sporting pistol suitable for beginners. It was light, easy to handle, and quick to fire.
But however light it was, Jiang Yumiao still felt rather at a loss holding it.
The staff member in black beside them was about to step forward and teach Jiang Yumiao how to hold it when Ning Chunchi raised a hand and said in English, "I'll teach him."
The staff member had been impressed by Ning Chunchi's performance that morning and knew he was more than capable of teaching Jiang Yumiao, so he left it to him.
Jiang Yumiao was trying to figure it out himself. Although he had never received professional training, he had watched plenty of TV dramas, so his grip looked quite convincing-as long as no one examined it too closely.
Ning Chunchi suddenly took his right hand, the one holding the gun. Standing close behind him on his right, Ning Chunchi corrected his posture little by little.
"Push the web of your hand up higher. Bring your wrist inward. Control it with your wrist and forearm, not just your hand."
On-screen, Ning Chunchi's long fingers slid over the pale back of Jiang Yumiao's hand, his larger hand guiding it into the correct position.
[...I have reasonable grounds to suspect President Ning just wants an excuse to snuggle up to his wife.]
[I'll be bold and declare that the comment above is a fact.]
[Why does just touching hands make